Lorenzo sighed deeply, his pale and fragile arms rested on the wooden desk. His once bright blue eyes were now dim, tired, and defeated. It was clear he no longer had the strength to continue managing the city and handling the war.

He knew deep down inside that he had made many poor choices and decisions recently, and it was slowly coming to bite him back. With the city's resources depleting and the war still raging, he could feel himself becoming weaker every passing day.

His wife was the only one who remained blissfully ignorant of the situation. Being the love of his life, he refused to tell her about his terminal illness. He couldn't bear the thought of her worrying and becoming more upset. He wanted to shield her from worry and pain, and felt the burden needed to be carried alone.

He tried his best to keep his distance from her, knowing that the longer he could keep it from her, the better. But the physical toll the illness was having on him was becoming increasingly difficult to hide from her.

One evening, as Lorenzo was walking down the halls of the Medici Palace, he felt a sudden wave of dizziness and weakness overcome him. He stumbled and reached out to the nearest wall for support, trying to steady himself.

His wife, who had been walking behind him, rushed to his side. He tried to maintain a stoic expression, but his face betrayed the pain and fatigue he was feeling. "I'm fine, it's nothing," he mumbled, his body leaning heavily against the wall.